How to Ward off the Riddler
by GenvieveWoolf
Summary: Why, with your ward, of course! Bruce is none too happy that he has to take care of that nerd, Dick Grayson. But maybe the kid will turn out to be an asset... melds the Dark Knight with the 60's Batman show.
1. Riddles Over Breakfast

_A weird change from what I've been doing lately, but I've been watching the old Batman show from the 60's. I decided it would be fun to take the setting from the end of the Dark Knight and throw the Robin from the 60's show into the mix. So as you read you can picture Christian Bale as Bruce Wayne and the modern, dignified Alfred, but cast young Burt Ward as Dick Grayson. Odd enough for you? I didn't think it quite qualified as a crossover. :p I don't know if I'll continue this or not, but here it is._

* * *

When Dick Grayson was safely tucked away in his bed for the night, Bruce Wayne and his loyal manservant Alfred slipped down to the Bat Cave to discuss weighty matters.

"He's going to be a problem," Bruce declared.

"I'm sure your new ward will accept the explanation that you are often called away suddenly on business," Alfred assured him.

"Yes, but I won't have the freedom of movement that I have in the past. If I'm working on something in the Bat Cave, I won't be able to just run upstairs and check something in my files or grab a snack…"

"I can do those things for you, sir."

"It's very inconvenient."

"Mr. Grayson was one of your father's closest friends."

"I know that," Bruce said, shielding himself from the lecture he knew was coming.

"That you take care of Richard was his dying wish."

"I know that, too."

"The least you can do is be a bit more optimistic."

"He'll be in the way."

"He's a good boy."

"That's kind of what I'm worried about. You know, he was top of his class in that ivy league high school of his… hey, maybe I could send him to a boarding school. That would take care of things."

"Master Bruce, I'm surprised at you. The boy just lost his father. Right now he needs the companionship of his older male guardian."

"We don't even know each other, Alfred. He can bond with other kids in his study hall."

Alfred frowned and shook his head. "If that's the way it must be, sir. But I would urge you to remember how you felt when you lost your parents at a young age. Would you have wished to be sent to a boarding school full of strangers?"

"That will do, Alfred. We need to worry about clearing Batman's reputation now that Gotham City is out from under the Joker's reign. And Commissioner Gordon told us he received some mysterious threats; we can work on unraveling those."

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair. Once or twice Dick asked Bruce a question about Wayne Manor and Bruce broke himself out of his thoughts to answer. At last, Dick took the bull by the horns.

"Do you have something on your mind, Bruce?" he asked. "You've been really distracted."

"Very distracted," Bruce corrected absent-mindedly.

Dick frowned. "Actually, I think 'really distracted' could be correct. Because you truly are distracted."

Again, Bruce shook free of more important matters and focused on his ward's face. "Sure. I'm distracted."

"Well… can I ask what's—I mean _may_ I ask what's distracting you?"

"Just a riddle I heard the other day."

"I'm good at riddles. What is it?"

Bruce gave Alfred a look. Then he shrugged. "The riddle is 'when is a horse not a horse?' I thought it might be when it's a fly. You know a horse fly. Or a sawhorse. Or pommel horse."

Dick shook his head. "It's simpler than that, Bruce. The answer is, 'when it's a chestnut.' And frankly, I think that riddle's a chestnut—an easy one to see through."

Bruce was very ruffled. Dick was acting quite superior. _The little nerd,_ he thought. "OK, then, how about this one: when is a dog like a Japanese number?"

Dick thought scarcely a moment. "When it has fleas," he said. "Because it's itchy. Ichi is the Japanese number one."

Bruce blinked. _Darn him, he's right again!_ "One more," he said. "What is not a baby, not navy, not in the sky or in a nest, but might mean someone important is vexed?"

Dick took a bite of eggs Benedict and thought carefully. "Got it," he said when his mouth was clear. "Royal blue. Baby, navy, sky and robin's egg are all shades of blue. And 'Royal blue' could mean someone important who is unhappy."

"Well done, Master Richard," Alfred congratulated.

"Thanks, Alfred. And Dick is fine."

Bruce was at a loss. He'd been puzzling over the riddles all night. He consoled himself that they were too simple—that was why he hadn't been able to solve them. "OK, now can you tell me what those three have in common?"

"Hmm. Chestnut, fleas and royal blue. Well… no, I don't think I can. I'll keep thinking about it though… Hmm. A chestnut horse belonging to royalty, with blue silks and—wait, horses don't get fleas, do they? I know they can get a certain kind of lice…"

_This kid really is a nerd!_ Bruce thought with annoyance. _If I keep him around he's bound to figure out my double life…_

"Perhaps it has something to do with the presence of the royal family from Lorandia," Alfred suggested. "They are arriving in Gotham City tomorrow night."

Bruce drew in a breath. "Wait… didn't they say that the annual Gotham City Flea Market was on their itinerary?" he said.

"Yes, and the princess has chestnut colored hair," Dick said. When the others turned to stare at him, he blushed. "I… I've been an admirer of hers for a while…"

"That must be it, then," Bruce said. "The princess."

"What—the princess is the answer to the riddles?" Dick asked.

"Uh—yeah."

"Who asked you those riddles, anyway?"

"A stranger, actually," Bruce said, searching for a way to change the subject quickly. "So, you know quite a bit about horses?"

"I used to play polo once in a while. And I sometimes like to watch races."

"I own 51% of a racehorse, actually," Bruce commented. "My father always wanted to name a horse Waynebow as a play on our family name, so… I decided to do it for him."

"Wow, that's keen."

"Keen? Hasn't that word gone out yet?"

"Well yeah, but not at the school I was going to." Dick shrugged.

"Speaking of school…"

Alfred sighed.

"I've heard there are some really good ones around here," Dick said. "I don't care if they're not ivy league or anything. I liked the look of that Woodrow Roosevelt High that's just a few miles from here."

"Really? You don't want to be with kids on the same social standing?"

"It'd be kind of nice to go someplace I can relax and not worry about living up to such snobby expectations."

"Oh. Well, I'll keep that in mind."

"I think it would be good if I could visit a couple of schools, though. To make sure it's what I'm looking for."

"An excursion this afternoon, Master Bruce?" Alfred suggested.

"Good idea, Alfred. Make sure you take him to at least three schools so he can make a good comparison," Bruce instructed.

"I meant, you, sir."

"I'm sure you'll do a fine job," Bruce said, glaring at Alfred in a way that clearly said "I have more important things to do, like catching that riddler."

* * *

"I do think Woodrow Roosevelt is the best choice," Dick told Alfred when they returned home that evening. "Do you think Bruce will enroll me there?"

"It is possible," Alfred said.

"Gosh, I hope so. Alfred… Bruce doesn't like me much, does he?"

"I wouldn't say that, sir. What makes you think so?"

"It always seems like I'm in his way or taking up time he could spend better somewhere else."

"You've been with us only a few days. I'm sure things will get more comfortable later on."

"I hope you're right. What I don't get is why Bruce spends so much time in his business and just entertaining himself. Sure, he makes donations and stuff, but it seems like he could be doing a lot more to help people. He is a pretty smart, powerful person."

Alfred smiled. "You're quite intelligent yourself, Master Dick."

"Thanks. Hey, does Bruce like chess?"

"Very much."

"Maybe he'd play a game or two with me sometime."

"I'm sure if he had time, he would be delighted."

"Yeah. If he has time." Dick sighed. He headed for the library to find a book to occupy himself. Boredom and loneliness made a bad combination.

* * *

_Poor Robin. Er, Dick. :p I actually thought up the overall plot for this story long before Batman Begins began ;) Even started writing it in a notebook. But that version was long overdue for an update. Anyhow, maybe I'll continue this if the fit takes me. Thanks for reading._


	2. The Riddler Makes a Fast Break

_Thanks for the comments! I don't intend the Riddler to be as nutso as the 60's version, or demented in quite the same way as the Batman Forever version (which I am actually working my way through for the first time as we speak!). I do want him to be cunning, though. A worthy adversary and all that. As for the many-layered chess game... don't give away all my ideas. ;) I am planning to work it in later if possible._

_Please pardon my corny references to The Prestige. I couldn't resist. xD_

* * *

"How about a game of chess," Dick suggested casually to Bruce, who was reading the morning paper.

"I have to go to town today," Bruce replied, not looking up.

"Oh. Well, maybe we could go by the flea market. I've heard it's one of the largest in the country."

"I have to go to town for business," Bruce clarified. "Anyway, the flea market will be going on all week. We can go another time."

Dick sighed. "Everything good gets sold the first day or two of a good sale, Bruce."

"Hmm."

It was obvious that Bruce was not interested. Dick excused himself and went out to explore the house—again. He was sure he hadn't seen all of it the first time; there were so many corridors to get turned around in.

* * *

Batman didn't like going out during the day, but the flea market officially closed each night at eight, and the newspaper had said that the royal family had planned their excursion for the afternoon. He crouched atop one of Gotham's tall business buildings and watched the crowd below through high-powered goggles.

Many side-show acts surrounded the sales, and Bruce observed that children were especially attracted to them, while the adults were more interested in their bargain-hunting.

Just after two o'clock, the royal family of Lorandia arrived in a limousine. Photographers swarmed at them. The king and queen appeared willing to give the reporters a few comments. Bruce focused on the auburn-haired girl with them. She seemed to be accompanied by a companion or governess who was directing her charge away from the noise of the press.

Princess Ellora appeared to be interested in a cheap magic act being conducted by an agile man in a green suit. The magician leaped around the stage, pulling random items from a hat, a bag, the pockets of audience members. Bruce looked at the princess again to be sure she was all right before turning his attention back to the strange green figure which never seemed to stop moving.

The magician was now vanishing the items he had conjured up. When they were all away, he made his hat and bag disappear, too. He then began gesturing toward a large, multi-colored box at the back of his tiny stage. Bruce thought he knew what was coming. The magician would make himself disappear now, and reappear in some unexpected place such as the back of the audience.

Then the magician gestured to the audience and children began raising their hands, jumping up and down to be chosen. Bruce quickly returned his attention to the princess. Her companion seemed to be trying to hold her arm down. Another look at the magician revealed the green-garbed stranger gesturing grandly. The children began to clap. A moment later, the princess was walking toward the stage.

Batman turned and hurried back to the side of the building overlooking a blind alley. _Why did I come out like this? Bruce Wayne would be far less conspicuous here. I'll never get near him. Not until it's too late._ He rappelled down the wall to his waiting tank of a car and began the fastest emergency quick-change of his life.

Moments later, Bruce Wayne was walking briskly toward the magic act. The magician in green was standing next to the open trick box, which was quite empty.

"I shall have to go find her!" the magician declared. From the ground, Bruce could see that he wore a lavender mask which hid the upper half of his face, and a matching question mark adorned the front of his tunic.

A young woman in a brief, feathery costume shut the magician into the box as he called out, "If I do not return, it was nice to meet you all! Speaking of meet—" he added from the closed box, "take the vowels out of the word and it has something in common with this box!"

The children watching began whispering amongst themselves, trying to understand the riddle.

The pretty assistant pretended to be puzzled, too. "Meet?" she said. "Hmm. Take out the vowels and you have…" she opened the box.

Bruce didn't have to hear the punch line. He knew the box was empty. The question was, where did the princess and the riddler go? He quietly approached the anxious-looking governess. Knowing that the official language of Lorandia was French, he greeted her: _"Bonjour, mademoiselle. Comment allez-vous?"_

Surprised to hear her native tongue, the girl gave him her full attention. _"Oh—bonjour, monsieur. Er… ca va._ I do speak English, you know."

"Very well, too," Bruce said, knowing that manners were important to the Lorandians, no matter how desperate the situation.

"Thank you. I am Georgette, governess to Princess Ellora."

"I am Bruce Wayne." Bruce extended his hand.

"Wayne? Are you by chance the son of that millionaire Wayne who saved our country from financial ruin some twenty years ago?"

"The same. Are you all right? You seem very worried."

"To tell the truth, I am. Ellora—she loves magic tricks of any kind. She wants to be on the stage. She volunteered for this disappearing trick, and now she is out of my sight. If her parents return and she is not with me, I am certain to be dismissed from their service."

"Well, let's go and find her," Bruce said, offering Georgette his arm.

"But she must be here somewhere—under the stage, perhaps? This riddling magician has promised to return her momentarily. If he does not, he will be arrested, no?"

"But he has disappeared as well," Bruce pointed out. "My guess is he plans to wait and bring her out at the end of his act. But we can't wait that long. We need to find the box—the place vanished things go until it is time for them to reappear."

"Of course! The Prestige."

"I've been meaning to see that movie," Bruce muttered as he led Georgette around toward the back of the small stage. "People keep telling me I look like one of the actors. But he's British, so I'm sure we're not related."

They circled the flimsy, well decorated partition and followed a section of temporary fencing until they reached a small gate.

"Hold it, pal," A clown told him. "Nobody comes back here."

"You're wrong," Bruce contradicted. "There's already someone backstage who isn't part of the act. We've come to collect her."

A fire eater paused his practice to look over at them. "Nobody's come through here. This is our special area to practice, bub. So beat it or we'll have to get the authorities over here."

"I wish you would; then we could figure out who kidnapped our little girl."

Georgette made no attempt to clarify Bruce's words. She apparently didn't care what the performers thought their relationship was.

A mime stepped up to Bruce and wagged a finger in his face.

"How dare you accuse us," the clown interpreted.

"I'm not accusing anyone yet. Now, where's the magician in the green suit?"

"The Riddler? He's on deck, doing his gig."

"No, he just disappeared, along with a ten-year-old girl."

"_Douze_," Georgette said quietly.

"Twelve-year-old girl," Bruce corrected himself.

"We don't know anything about that," the fire eater said. "Our acts are all independent of each other. It's every man for himself at this flea market."

"You're right. And if you don't let us through, I'm going to come in there and show you what that cliché really means."

"Flea market?" the clown asked stupidly.

"No—every man for himself."

"Right. I knew that."

"Aw, let 'em by," the fire eater said. "What do we care? Just don't tell anyone we let you back here, or everyone will want a tour."

Performers went this way and that as Bruce and Georgette searched the backstage area, but they saw no odd magicians, and no little girl with chestnut hair. They saw a troupe of four dressed as Goldilocks and the three bears, but the girl's hair color was quite natural. They saw an archer dressed as Robin Hood, but his green suit had no lavender question mark. They saw many masked and painted people, but no one fit the bill.

When they returned to the small stage where the Riddler had performed his act, a fresh crew of children was enjoying the magic show—with a new magician, robed in red. The trick box was gone.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to notify the authorities, Georgette," Bruce told her ruefully. He silently berated himself for allowing the princess to be kidnapped and the kidnapper to escape under his very nose.

"Oh, no," Georgette wailed. "_Je suis perdu_. Ellora…"

"_Ne t_'_inquiète __pas,"_ Bruce said quickly, following Georgette's lapse into French. _"Il va se ranger."_

"How can you say that? She is gone. I shall be dismissed. I will never see the princess again!"

"You must go to the police and tell them everything you can about the Riddler's act and what you saw. I'll find the king and queen and tell them what happened. If they hear it from me they may not be as angry with you. But every moment counts, understand? _Pour la fille, chaque minute est de grande importance."_

Georgette nodded grimly, her wide eyes brimming with tears. _"C'est la verité. Merci_—thank you, Mr. Wayne. You are very kind."

* * *

"That horrid girl—she must be dismissed at once," the queen lamented.

"Your Majesty, Georgette may be the best help the police have to find your daughter," Bruce told her. "She was with Ellora the moment she disappeared and she can describe the man responsible. The Gotham police force may have been corrupt in the past, but under our new commissioner, it's become very efficient. Because of who your daughter is, I think you'll receive a ransom note soon. If there is any way I can be of assistance, you have only to call." He handed his card to the king's aid.

"Mr. Wayne," the king said solemnly, "you are here in our hour of need just as your father once was. I don't know what you can do for us now, but we greatly appreciate your support. Now we must confer with the police. They have more questions for us. We will be sure to contact you if we have news."

Bruce nodded. "Goodbye for the present, Your Highness." He bowed and walked away. He was soon lost in the bustle of people on the outskirts of the flea market. He knew that the police would soon want to question him as well, to see if he could tell any more about the side show rehearsal area. But he was sure he could tell them no more than Georgette could, and Commissioner Gordon would soon be trying to contact Batman. Time to change again.

* * *

"So, how do you contact Batman during the day?" Henry Mason, a new Gotham City PD recruit, asked commissioner Gordon.

Gordon was looking out his office window at the late afternoon sky. Sunset was still hours away. "I'm afraid we don't have any good way to do that until nightfall," he answered. "Of course, sometimes he comes to us first. But I don't think he will have heard about the kidnapping yet."

"Yeah. You want me to get you anything?"

"Can you make our boys conduct their questioning faster?" Gordon sighed. "Never mind. A cup of water, I guess."

"OK." Mason turned toward the door—and nearly jumped out of his skin. "C-Commissioner…"

Gordon turned around. Batman was standing in the doorway.

"You're here," Gordon said faintly. "I didn't think you would have heard…"

Batman's piercing eyes seemed to look through the young recruit.

"This is Henry Mason," Gordon said. "I handpicked him myself. He just finished training in New York a month ago. You can trust him."

"Right now we can't trust anyone," Batman contradicted in his deep, rough voice. "But he'd be stupid to act on anything we say if he's involved in this."

"Do you think the threats we received have to do with the princess's disappearance?" Gordon asked.

"They do. A horse isn't a horse when it's a chestnut—the color of the princess's hair. A dog is like a Japanese number when he has fleas because he is _ichi_, the Japanese number one. The princess was kidnapped from a flea market. And we might have foreseen it if we'd understood the third riddle—the answer is royal blue."

Gordon closed his eyes and leaned his head on one hand. "It's so obvious in hindsight. But that doesn't do us any good. How do we find the princess?"

"This green magician is eccentric. He likes riddles more than the average charlatan. He won't be able to resist sending more riddles in his ransom note. He wants to taunt you again. This time we'll have to outsmart him."

"What can we do in the meantime?"

"Try to find out where he came from. It might tell you where he's going."

"You mean his background could tell us where he's likely to hide the princess?" Mason put in."

"Right."

"Let's get on that, Mason," Gordon instructed. "Find out if our unit is done questioning the governess. We need a detailed description and a composite sketch. We also need a report from the officers who questioned the other performers in the area—see if they heard any names or aliases for this guy."

Mason took notes in his notepad like the good recruit that he was. When Gordon paused, he looked up. "Uh… where'd the Bat-man go?"

Gordon looked around. "Probably out the window when we weren't looking. He's like that."

"Oh."

* * *

_I doubt you need help, but here are the French translations._

Bruce: Hello, miss. How are you?

Georgette: Hello, sir. Uh... OK.

(later) Georgette: Twelve.

(later) Georgette: I am lost...

Bruce: Don't be upset. It will work out. (shortly after:) For the girl, each minute is of great importance.

Georgette: It is the truth. Thank you.

_If I spelled any of that wrong, I apologize profusely. And just in case someone is still scratching his head, the answer to the riddle is M-T, or "empty_."_ Cheesy, I admit. But I'm not exactly a master riddler..._


	3. Ransom the Rich

_Don't worry, don't worry, I PLAN for the story to be mostly about the angst (there's some in this section). But you need a plot to carry it along, you know. :p Thanks for the nice comments. I did take French, but it was a few years ago. I'm embarrassed at how much I've forgotten. My Riddler will, I hope, be a bit more serious and scary than the 60's version. Anyhoo, enjoy this section._

* * *

"Holy hostage, look at this," Dick exclaimed when he saw the morning paper. "the Lorandian princess was kidnapped yesterday. Why, we were just talking about her a couple days ago!"

Bruce scrambled for a way to take Dick's attention off the paper. "Holy hostage? Is that another turn of phrase popular at your old school?"

"No… actually, that's all me. My mother got tired of hearing 'holy cow' and 'holy smokes' so I told her I'd get more creative."

"Did she appreciate that?"

"It annoyed her even more. I think that's why I kept it up." Dick's smile faltered and he looked down at the paper again.

Bruce supposed that any talk of his family was likely to sadden Dick for a while.

"Hey… it says here… listen: 'millionaire Bruce Wayne is said to have been with the princess's governess near the time of the abduction. However, Wayne has not yet been reached for a statement. Is that true, Bruce? You were there?"

"I happened to be nearby."

"At the flea market?"

There was an awkward silence.

"At the flea market you said you couldn't go to yesterday?" Dick persisted.

_I really need to start planning these things better,_ Bruce told himself. _I knew this kid would give me trouble._ "Something came up," he said coolly. "A change of plans."

Dick stared at him for a long moment. "OK," he said at last. He looked at the paper once more. "Think she's all right?" he asked in a tight voice.

"Who knows?"

Alfred entered the breakfast room. "The king of Lorandia sends his regards, sir. His man just told me that a ransom note has turned up. The police have it now."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, not really meaning it. The timing was bad.

"You know the royal family?" Dick said, sounding surprised. "What the—why didn't you… Bruce…"

"I'm not used to telling people all about my life," Bruce declared. _I'm gonna break his little heart. Break it more, that is. I've got more important things to worry about. I need him out of my way._

"I see," Dick answered stonily. He was silent a moment as he sipped some orange juice. Then he set the glass down with an angry _thunk._ "I don't care if you don't want to tell me stuff," he said. "Just don't lie to me." He pushed his chair out awkwardly—it was a larger chair than he was used to sitting in at the table—and ended up knocking it over. Embarrassed, he fled the room.

"That one is a spirited young man," Alfred commented as he righted the chair. "And one of strong moral conviction."

"He's in the way," Bruce said. "I never thought this was a good idea. It's not fair to him either. There has to be someone else he can stay with."

* * *

On the other side of the breakfast room door, Dick heard Bruce's words. He didn't stay to hear any more. He went to his room and began to pack. _Why stay where I'm not wanted? Aunt Harriet told me she wished I could stay with her—she won't mind putting me up at short notice. My lawyer can straighten it out. A dying wish isn't legally binding. I don't have to stay here._

But Dick knew he did want to honor his father's wish, even if it wasn't legally binding. Because it was what he was supposed to do. His movements slowed until he'd stopped packing and sat forlornly on his bed. "Holy dilemma," he muttered. His eyes came to rest on the _History of Gotham City _book he'd been reading.

He got up and wandered down the long passageways and staircases to the library. He looked around at the grand bookcases, the small statues, the paintings, the little bust of Shakespeare… and the chess board he'd set up the night before, hoping he could talk Bruce into a game that day. In frustration, he knocked the pieces to the floor.

_Why did he agree to this in the first place? _he wondered. _Was it a PR stunt or something? He obviously doesn't like teens. Maybe he isn't a people person at all. After all, he was raised by the butler.

* * *

_

"This is a secure line, Commissioner. You can speak freely."

"The Riddler sent a ransom note to the king at the Grand Hotel. He's demanding fifty million dollars for the princess's return. He included a lock of the princess's hair. He says he wants an answer by noon tomorrow, or his next message will include the rest of her hair."

"So we are dealing with another psychopath." Bruce concluded.

"Just lucky, I guess. He also included another riddle like you said he would. It goes, 'If you have a taste for danger, you should call on your dark knight. But if you need a real savior you must look to the light.' It doesn't seem to give us much to go on."

"How's the background check coming?"

"No positive identification yet. But we're narrowing down the regions he's likely to be from. For instance, a few people told us he couldn't be from their region because his accent wasn't right. We're also trying to track down the tailor that made his costume. We think it was probably custom-made."

"Good thinking, Commissioner. I'll see what I can do about the riddle."

"What should I do about the ransom demand?"

"Tell the press you're working on raising the money."

"The city can't afford to put up the ransom," Gordon said, sounding tired. "And it will take time for Lorandia to confirm the validity and seriousness of the situation before they can set aside a sum like that."

"I know. But the king seems to know that millionaire, Bruce Wayne, personally. Try contacting him and see if he can help."

"Bruce Wayne? Well… I'll try. But he's kind of a fop, Batman. I'm not sure he'll see the importance. "

"Try anyway. You're running out of options."

Minutes later, Bruce answered his land line and feigned surprise when Gordon asked for his help.

"Well, it's very sudden, but I suppose I can call my trustees," he said. "I do want to help if I can."

"Please do that, Mr. Wayne," Gordon said. "I can't tell you how urgent it is."

"I'll do it right away, then."

After a few phone calls from his study, Bruce knew he was running out of options himself. He needed help with the riddle. And he knew he had to ask Dick.

There was a knock on the study door.

"Yes? Come in."

Dick entered the room meekly.

"Dick… sit down," Bruce offered.

"I wanted to apologize," Dick said, approaching Bruce's desk slowly, "for knocking over the chair this morning. And if I was rude… I_ was_ rude. I'm sorry."

Bruce studied Dick for a long moment. "That's all right," he said at last. He wondered how he could steer the conversation to the new riddle. "Maybe I shouldn't keep you in the dark so much. I'm just used to Alfred being my only confidante. Comes of living alone too long, I guess."

"Listen, Bruce," Dick said, sitting down, "I get it if you don't want a dependent right now. I was thinking—" He took a deep breath. "My aunt Harriet—you met her, right? Harriet Cooper."

"At the reading of your father's will."

"Yeah. Well, she's always said I could stay with her. Maybe this would be easier for me if I could be with someone I know. For a while, at least. And it would give you time to make some adjustments if you really want to do this."

Bruce hesitated. If Dick could be useful in catching the Riddler, then it was imperative that he stay around. But how much help could he really be? "Maybe we're both being hasty," he said. "Let's take a while to think it over."

"Sure," Dick agreed. "But maybe we could call Aunt Harriet and see what she thinks."

"We can do that."

"Thanks."

"Before you go," Bruce said, trying to sound casual, "I thought you might be interested: I've learned that the king received a ransom note today."

"So the princess is probably still alive."

"Probably. The kidnapper sent a riddle along with his note." Bruce repeated what the commissioner had told him.

"Well, the dark knight is obviously Batman," Dick said. "A taste for danger may just be a red herring… then again, it could have something to do with food. Like if he's keeping her in a warehouse belonging to a food packing company."

"What about the second half of the riddle?"

"An obvious reference to religion. Maybe she's near a church, or a cross-shaped monument."

"Why a cross?"

"'Look to the light' is a very Christian cliché. It's all about having faith and stuff. Besides, Christianity is centered on a savior."

"So are several other religions."

"It just sounds Christian. My mom was a Methodist—trust me on this one," Dick said firmly. He stood to go. "Oh, by the way, I'm also sorry I made a mess of the chess set in the library. If Alfred hasn't found it yet, I'll clean it up."

"You… did what to it?"

Dick shrugged sheepishly. "I was mad, so I knocked the pieces off the board. I'll put them back."

"All right. Thank you." Bruce watched Dick leave. He began thinking the riddle over again, in light of what Dick had said. "A taste for danger," he murmured quietly.

* * *

Princess Ellora had realized fairly quickly that the magic act had been an act on two levels. When the Riddler joined her backstage, she had expected him to swear her to secrecy and then make her reappear. Instead, he had engaged her in conversation about the market, her family, and a supposed reward her father had offered for a clever stunt from the entertainment. He said he wanted her to hide and not let anyone know where she was until her father granted him the reward. She must be a clever actress, he said.

_Well, I can act on several levels, too,_ she thought, nodding as the magician went on and on, as if she were not very clever at all, and probably had a hard time understanding him.

"Do you understand, my dear?" he asked.

Ellora smiled sweetly. "I sink so," she said, allowing her French accent to come to an exaggerated degree. "You want me to act—what sohrt of pahrt will I play?"

"Baby bear," the Riddler grinned. "How do you say it in French? _B__é__b__é__…?"_

"_Ours,"_ Ellora supplied, still smiling, though she felt ill.

"Ah, yes. Like Ursa minor, right?"

Ellora tilted her head to the side, hoping she wasn't overdoing her look of curiosity. "I do not undehrstand," she said.

"Don't worry, my dear. You shall be the baby bear, and I shall be the papa bear, and my good friends will be the mama and Goldilocks. We shall walk freely through the market, and no one will recognize you. But we must hurry—I've arranged an entertaining evening for you. Quickly—what's the word—_vite_?"

"You ahr vehry clever, _monsieur_," Ellora said, thinking to herself, _If he addressed me that way in my own country, I'd have him banished._

The Riddler smiled to himself as he delivered Ellora and the costumes to a very short woman who would chaperone the princess and play the part of Goldilocks. He grinned broadly inside his bear costume as they trooped by that meddling Bruce Wayne and the Lorandian governess. Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

_As usual, comments are welcome. Just don't steal all my thunder with your speculation. xD_


End file.
